"Brawly can he dance and sing,
Canty glee or highland cronach;
Nane can ever match his fling,
At a reel, or round a ring;
Wightly can he wield a rung,
In a brawl he's aye the bangster:
A' his praise can ne'er be sung
By the langest-winded sangster.
Sangs that sing o' Sandy
Seem short, tho' they were e'er sae lang."
The Brier Bush.
[We give here two versions of this popular song—the first, that which appears in Johnson's Museum, and which was altered by Burns from some old strain—the second, that which is generally sung in our theatres.]
There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard,
There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard;
And below the bonnie brier bush there's a lassie and a lad.
And they're busy, busy courting in our kail-yard.
We'll court nae mair below the buss in our kail-yard,
We'll court nae mair below the buss in our kail-yard;
We'll awa' to Athole's green, and there we'll no be seen,
Whare the trees and the branches will be our safe guard.
Will ye go to the dancin' in Carlyle's ha',
Will ye go to the dancin' in Carlyle's ha;
There Sandy and Nancy I'm sure will ding them a'?
I winna gang to the dancin' in Carlyle's-ha'.
What will I do for a lad, when Sandy gangs awa'?
What will I do for a lad, when Sandy gangs awa'?
I will awa' to Edinburgh and win a pennie fee,
And see an onie bonnie lad will fancy me.
He's comin' frae the North that's to fancy me,
He's comin' frae the North that's to fancy me;
A feather in his bonnet and a ribbon at his knee,
He's a bonnie, bonnie laddie an yon be he.
[ANOTHER VERSION.]
"There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard,
And white are the blossoms o't in our kail-yard:
Like wee bit white cockauds for our loyal Hieland lads;
And the lasses lo'e the bonnie bush in our kail-yard."
"But were they a' true that were far awa'?
Oh! were they a' true that were far awa'?
They drew up wi' glaiket Englishers at Carlisle ha',
And forgot auld frien's when far awa'."
"Ye'll come nae mair, Jamie, where aft you've been;
Ye'll come nae mair, Jamie, to Athole's Green;
Ye lo'ed ower weel the dancin' at Carlisle ha'.
And forgot the Hieland hills that were far awa'."
"He's comin' frae the North that's to fancy me,
He's comin' frae the North that's to fancy me;
A feather in his bonnet, a ribbon at his knee;
He's a bonnie Hieland laddie, and you be na he."
Gree, bairnies, gree.
[The following excellent little nursery song is by William Miller, author of the highly popular ditty called "Wee Willie Winkie," and is here printed for the first time. Mr. Miller is a working cabinet turner in Glasgow.]
The moon has row'd her in a cloud,
Stravagin' wuns begin
To shoggle and shake the window brods,
Like loons that wad be in.
Gae whistle a tune in the lum-head,
Or craik in saughen tree;
We're thankfu' for a cozie hame,
Sae gree, bairnies, gree.
Though gurlin' wuns may blaely blaw;
Our roustn' fire will thow
The straggler's taes,—and keep fu' cosh
My tousie taps-o'-tow.
O, wha wad cule your kale, my bairns,
Or bake your bread like me,
Ye'd get the bit frae out my mouth,
Sae gree, bairnies, gree.
